A Knack for Miscommunication
by clarksmuse
Summary: Sometimes, bites suck. Disclaimer: I don’t own the Winchesters or Chloe Sullivan. Other people do.


"Wow, Gordon really took a chunk out of your neck, didn't he

**A Knack for Miscommunication**

"Wow, Gordon really took a chunk out of your neck, didn't he?"

Dean Winchester rolled his eyes and concentrated on the highway instead of the annoyingly obvious question his brother just asked. Two days after their confrontation with the psycho hunter-turned-vampire, and the wound he'd gotten on his neck still looked like one large bruise. The puncture marks had scabbed over – thanks to bandages and lots of peroxide – but the purplish blue that spread out inches from the wounds would take some time to go away.

"No kidding," Dean replied with a sour expression. "I never would have guessed he was trying to kill me."

"Just trying to make conversation, grumpy," Sam said with a sigh. "Had no idea you'd get so irritated over a bite mark."

Dean snorted. Normally bites didn't bother him – especially not the love bites from a night of wild sex with the first hot chick he could pick up. In those cases, they were always in places he could cover up, since the last thing he wanted was being able to give Sam an excuse to make a sex kitten crack. Unfortunately, Dean couldn't cover this one up. Even the upper flap of his leather jacket barely hid the dark bruises. Not the best time to look for a one night stand, he decided.

"Whatever, Sammy. I'm hungry. We're stopping." Dean indicated to a bar and grill place on the side of the road.

"Dude, we've barely been on the road two hours."

"Who cares? Have food, will travel."

Sam's response was to sigh heavily; Dean grinned with the knowledge that he had easily won this battle as he turned the Impala into the small, crowded parking lot.

&

Out of habit, Dean scanned the interior of the brightly lit restaurant, just to make sure all was well and no one struck him as being out of place. With all the couples and families sitting in booths and tables, this was clearly a family establishment. _Figures_, he mused as he and Sam were seated. _There's no scenery to enjoy while chowing down._

As he settled into his seat and grabbed the menu, Dean caught sight of a flash of blonde hair on the other side of the restaurant. Moving to the edge of the seat, he saw a woman seated by herself, blonde hair tucked behind her ear as she stared at the cell phone in her hand. Her pretty face was set in concentrated intensity as she punched buttons. Dean caught himself staring and felt a knowing smile on his lips when she looked up and straight at him. Green eyes flashed with irritation, though she refused to break eye contact.

"I knew it," Sam's voice broke through.

With a cough, Dean looked away from the woman and settled back in his seat. "What?" he asked. "I can't look?"

"Dean, you get there are kids around?"

"So?"

"So . . . don't do anything stupid."

Dean shot his brother a look. "Whatever. Did you get a look at her? Man, she's got legs for miles." His eyes traveled back to her seated form, to her long, slender legs beneath the table. "Bet she could make a man's night."

"Can we order and move on?" Sam protested.

"In a minute, Sam," Dean said and stood up. "I'll be right back."

"Five bucks says you don't score her phone number," Sam called, but Dean chose to ignore him as he tugged at his jacket and moved across the restaurant. The closer he got to her, the more he liked what he saw: a heart-shaped face framed by the sleek, straight hair; the way her clothing clung to her curves; her intense focus on whatever was happening via her cell phone. He wondered if she brought that kind of intensity to the bedroom.

Without ceremony, he plopped down on the other side of her and leaned on the tabletop, fingers interlaced. "Looking kinda lonely over here," he began casually.

The blonde merely glanced at him for a moment and then resumed her focus on her phone. "Sometimes 'one' is the best number in the world," she said.

"Except when 'two' is a better choice," he said. When she looked at him, curiosity and impatience in her eyes, he flashed her a smile.

For a moment, neither of them spoke; Dean could see the swirl of emerald and wondered what was going on in electronic land that was more important than having a conversation with another human being. However, when she didn't look away, he began to think that perhaps she liked what she saw and wanted to talk.

Until her lips curved into a large smile and her brilliant eyes flashed with amusement. He frowned. "What?" he asked when she said nothing.

"Nice try, buddy, but you might wanna cover that thing up before hitting on another girl," she said and put a hand across her mouth.

She was laughing at him, and it took a moment to realize why. With a groan, Dean clapped his hand over the damn vampire bite.

"That thing's huge," she continued with a loud giggle. "Is your girlfriend Godzilla? Because that hickey's the size of Texas!"

"It is _not_ a hickey, Ms . . ." Dean growled and hesitated, waiting for her name.

"Sullivan. Chloe Sullivan," she replied and laughed again. "Really? Because it looks someone sucked on your neck for a couple hours."

Dean sighed. Someone _had_ been sucking on his neck, but there was no way he'd ever let a civilian know it was one of the creepies that went bump in the night. "Too bad it wasn't you," he said and gave her a heated look. "I bet a mouth like yours could do wonders."

Before she could respond or smack him across the face, Dean got out of his seat and walked back to where Sam was waiting, two large glasses of soda sitting on the table. He slouched into the booth and pulled the collar of his jacket tightly around his neck.

With a laugh, Sam held out his hand. "Where's my five bucks?"


End file.
